Glub, glub …
Christmas was a busy time. With eight children in our joint family, our wee house gets a bit crowded. Even though the kids are now old enough that a few have apartments of their own, they mostly all show up over Christmas.
That makes for a busy, crowded house. It makes for lots of comings and goings, lots of laughter, lots of food. And lots of laundry.
Lots
and lots
and lots
and LOTS
of laundry.
On their final day here, my husband, their father, sent his brood to their respective rooms to clean up before they left. What hadn’t occurred to me, though it should, was that “cleaning up” included “removing from the floor the carpet of discarded clothing we’ve been accumulating for the past eight days.”
It should have occured to me because I do laundry every day. With that many bodies in the house, it’s essential. You’d think I’d have noticed the dearth of items from those particular children. (My own children do their own laundry.)
(Why do my stepkids not? Because they are not usually here for periods extended enough to accumulate a full load each. It’s a more efficient use of energy — mine, and the planet’s — to do their clothes as one load. And in that case, I am the designated laundry-person in this household. Which is fine. I rather enjoy doing laundry, all except for the folding part.)
So, at the end of their days with us, I am confronted with a mound of laundry in which you could bury several small children. (Not that we tried. Ew.) There were only three of them involved, but these three have not yet figured out that one may wear a pair of jeans or a sweater more than once before laundering. Besides, now that said jeans and sweatshirts have spent the past week mixing it up with dirty socks and underwear, being trampled underfoot as grapes into wine, clean into soiled, a comfy warm (and probably warming, as things ferment) bedroom carpet, they do need to be laundered. As I said, a substantial mound.
It has been five days, and I have just.about. caught up.
I would be entirely caught up had Anna not puked in Emma’s bed yesterday. Oh, the excitment of my job, I tells ya. Anna has her own pillow and blankie, but she sleeps atop Emma’s bed, and managed to give duvet, pillowcase and Emma’s blankie a delicate yet thorough sprinkling. Grossed out, Emma tossed in her perfectly clean comforter and sheets as well. And, because my job caused the mess, it’s my job to clean it up. Besides, I am the household laundry-person, and “household” includes linens.
The duvet is done; the comforter is in the dryer; the rest is chugging away in the wash. And then? Then it’s DONE!! I have CAUGHT UP!!!
And this evening? This evening the stepkids return.
I think I’m drowning…
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Ewww!
That is a hella lot of laundry.
I enjoy the folding part. But not the putting of laundry away.
I seem to have become the laundry person. Meanwhile, Misterpie seems to have become a man who leaves his socks and underwear on the hallway floor rather than walk down the hall to the hamper. I’m not sure how or when this transformatino happened, but so far, my solution has been to pointedly leave them where they are for him to pick up. Gah. I think with that many in one house, I’d lose it, if only the three of us drives me nuts already! You’re a strong woman, Ms. P.
I do not envy you. I don’t mind laundry, but I hate folding. This leads to great numbers of baskets of clean unfolded wrinkled clothes.
My goal is to not start the next load until the first is finished. I strive but do not always meet this goal.
I was in a similar position yesterday (minus the stepkids…). I managed to do six loads of laundry, got four of them folded and three of them put away. The bath towels are still in the dryer. And I still have, wait a moment, (1, 2, 3…) four loads to do. And of course, new dirty clothes accumulating every day.
And kittenpie: I have one of those. Dirty socks, pants, shirts, underwear, t-shirts — they can all be found many places in my house, except the hamper or the basement, where I actually sort and do the laundry. Sigh.
rpm
I don’t mind laundry, but I think I’d mind THAT much laundry. Also, I’m lucky…my husband does it more often than I do. However, I’m not sure that being “caught up” on laundry ever really happens, especially in the winter, when everyone wears more – and heavier – clothing. It’s the Circle of Laundry, the never-ending story…
Good luck with this weekend’s wash-o-rama!
Hey, laundry is a life skill. You’d be doing them a favour teaching them to do it.
I don’t make my kids (8 and 11) do their own laundry at this point because I’m sure it would require tons more energy. But I do expect them to fold their own laundry. And I point out to them that if they wear pants only once, they have twice as many pants to fold than if they wear them twice.
I have one friend who makes her kids do laundry – oh my the waste – her kids seemingly do 4 loads each, each week! and I don’t think that includes any sort of linens.
Jen: You know, after I wrote that I began to wonder if I’m not starting to enjoy the folding, too. Miracles do happen!
Kittenpie: You know how Calvin’s dad is always saying that unpleasant things build character? Well, me? I’ve got laundry character I haven’t even used yet!
(My ex-husband used to be the same way with laundry. Note the descriptor…)
Dani: That sounds like a good system! I hope you manage to iron out the wrinkles in it, soon. heeheeheeheehee
Albamaria: It is Sunday evening. I await the onslaught of this weekend’s laundry, but that’s only two days’ worth. I’ll be caught up by tomorrow night.
Florinda: “Caught up” to me means completing each day’s laundry on that day. I generally collect the household’s laundry in the morning and have it all done and put away by mid-afternoon. “Caught up” is that 7-hour window of empty baskets…
Chosa: Oh, they know how. It’s just not logistically practical for them to do it on short weekend visits. I am, however, seriously considering changing my policy for longer stints.
Katherine: I would say that the 11-year-old is well old enough to learn. It’ll be more work for the first month, and then less. Besides, it’s a life skill.
I am astounded that your friend allows 4 loads/kid/week. Mine have a day each: the boy on Tuesday, the girl on Thursday. Otherwise, the laundry room is MINE. If they miss their day, they wait a week — and does that sometimes mean washing underwear in a sink, or wearing clothes that are slightly less pristine than they might prefer? Could be… I’d call that motivation.